


The Collector

by Eromancery



Category: Vast Error
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 07:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16697800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eromancery/pseuds/Eromancery





	The Collector

The Collector stood at the top of a hill and looked down upon the hive of the person he was going to kill. He took note of the building’s architecture, the high stone walls, the windows looking out over the empty plains surrounding it, the smoke rising from the chimney. He though about the type of person who would live in such a place. He thought about his home, the dusty hole in the ground that it was. He thought about the series of poor choices that had brought him here.

”>([w#at t#e fuck are you waiting for an open invitation? Go get em miss jones],” a distorted, mechanical voice tore The Collector from his thoughts.

The Collector’s bandanna rustled as he turned towards the speaker, a floating orb about the size of his head. A single red lens peered out from beneath its black carapace.

“Miss Jones?///” he asked.

“>([a joke. you do know what t#ose are rig#t]” the orb replied.

“/\m/\zingly, yes, I do. Now why /\m I here, /\g/\in? Whose hi\/e is this?”

“>([nobody special. just anot#er c#eapskate w#o t#oug#t stiffing me was a good idea].” The orb deployed a single mechanical arm from beneath its body, and made a move as if it was checking a watch. “>([now are we done sitting #ere wasting my time or do i #ave to remind you w#ose soul i own?]” it asked.

“Shut up,///” The collector said. He drew his knife and began the slow trek down the hill and towards his target

The door was large, wooden and vulnerable to boots. The Collector stepped into the entry hall and immediately took a dagger to the chest. The Collector stumbled back, and stared down at the vibrating handle protruding from his sternum.

”>([watc# out for traps. t#eyre probably all over t#is place],” the orb said as it floated in behind him.

“Thanks,///” The Collector said as he removed the offending blade from his chest. He studied the knife in the light from the doorway, appraising it. Nodding gently, he wiped his ochre blood off of the blade and slid it into his belt. Already he could feel the wound in his chest beginning to close, the flesh knitting itself shut.

“>([no problem],” the orb replied, either unaware of or deliberately ignoring The Collector’s sarcasm. Knowing who operated the drone, it could be either, or some bizarre combination of the two.

The Collector studied the hallway he was in. Paintings lined the walls, presumably valuable.The carpet, now stained with The Collector’s bronze blood, also appeared to be worth a considerable sum. Busts on pedestals stood at various points. As The Collector moved to inspect one, a dagger flew out of its mouth and buried itself into one of the portraits on the opposite wall. The Collector felt a strange sense of annoyance at the fact that his target didn’t even bother to stab him in person.

“Hey,///” he asked. “How much is /\ll this stuff worth?//”

The drone attempted to shrug, the effect dampened by its single appendage. “>([a lot. i dont #ave an exact fucking number].”

“/\nd they couldn’t p/\y you wh/\tever they owed you?//” The Collector gestured to the hallway. “Despite owning /\ll of this shit?”

“>([couldnt wouldnt w#atever. just know t#at s#e didnt],” the drone moved as it talked, floating haphazardly through the halls of the manor. The Collector did his best to follow it. It stopped in front of a door grander and more ornate than any of the others they had passed. “>([anyway s#es rig#t be#ind t#is door. go get em killer]”

The Collector steeled himself, readied his his foot, realized that if he kept kicking doors down he would ruin his shoes very quickly, decided he didn’t care, and kicked the door down.

 

The room The Collector entered was, unlike the hallways he had gone through to get there, sparsely decorated. It appeared to be his target’s sleeping quarters. A single large recuperacoon stood off to the side. The only other object of any interest was a single portrait hanging on the wall opposite the door. The Collector stepped in to the room, and appraised it from the middle. No sign of his target. He moved to investigate the portrait. He took note of the gray skin and horns. This was definitely a troll. Gray skin, black hair, horns. Yet, something about the picture struck The Collector as odd. If only he could figure out what it was…

Something heavy landed on The Collector’s back. Something angry, something with a sharp implement to take that anger out on The Collector. Whatever it was managed to get a few good stabs in before The Collector could manage to throw it off. He drew his knife and turned around to looked at his assailant.

The first thing he noticed is how much she looked like the troll in the portrait. It stood to reason, he thought, that she was the troll in the portrait. The Collector was not accustomed to wealth, but the drone operator was, and in a moment of almost-friendliness, had revealed that one of his contemporaries had, in his words, “>([commissioned a s#it ton of portraits of #is ugly underbitten mug that no one in t#eir rig#t mind would wanna look at].”

The Collector assumed that owning portraits of themselves was something that the rich simply did, and just moved on.  
The object she had stabbed him with looked to him like some sort of rapier, only smaller. An ice pick, maybe? Whatever it was, it didn’t look very well suited for combat. He raised his knife and charged into the fray.

The target fought with the ferocity and desperation of someone fighting for their life. The Collector fought with years of practice and an astonishing ability to not die, no matter how many times he was stabbed.

The orb watched impassively. It might have been his imagination, but The Collector thought that he might have heard the crunching of popcorn once or twice.

Eventually, The Collector stood victorious.

“Th/\nks for the help.///”

”>([s#it man you had t#at on lockdown. didnt want to get in t#e way.]”

“Wh/\te\/er.///” The Collector brushed himself off and removed his knife from the target’s body. He wiped the blade against his sleeve to clean off the blood, and sheathed it back into his bel- wait. The Collector looked at the stain on his sleeve, trying to discern just what was off about it. He felt the same sense of wrongness as when he was staring at the portrait. He looked down at the corpse, at the blood that was pooling out of it.

Jade blood.

“You B/\ST/\RD,///” he snarled at the drone, drawing his blade once more, “You h/\d me kill a j/\de!”

The drone attempted another one-armed shrug.

“>([s#it man i sure did. i t#oug#t you didnt care about t#at #emospectrum stuff.]”

“It’s not /\ hemospectrum thing! Do you know how m/\ny j/\des there /\re th/\t /\re still /\li\/e?”

“>([as of five minutes ago t#ree #undred. guess its two-ninety-nine now.]

“I /\m going to murder you. I /\m going to tr/\ck you down /\nd slit your throat like the fish you /\re.”

The drone operator let out a low chuckle. “>([look who finally grew a pair. but before you go on doing t#at just reminds me who still owns your soul?]”

The Collector offered only a growl in response.

“>([ yea# daniel webster thats w#at i fucking t#oug#t. but i admit t#at maybe t#is was somet#ing i s#oulda disclosed before you went and killed #er. from now on ill tell you w#o it is youre gonna kill ok? great. i got one more target for you today. s#es a mustardblood so dont get all #ig# and mig#ty bout killing #er. we all good? great.]”

Knowing that there was nothing he could really do, The Collector sheathed his blade and began the slow trek out of the hive of his victim, and towards the hive of his next.

The drone followed, watching, as always.


End file.
